Fortune Teller
by Addicted2Him
Summary: DracoxOC oneshot. Based on the song Fortune Teller by the Rolling Stones. Blaise finally convinces Draco to see a Muggle fortune teller, just for his amusement. What would happen if Blaise had actually set the whole thing up...?


Based on Fortune Teller by Rolling Stones

* * *

"No." The blonde teenage boy glowered, his silver eyes narrowing.

The darker boy raised a delicate, almost feminine eyebrow but said nothing. The blonde's eyes scrunched even further, making his expression nearly indecipherable.

"No," he repeated, crossing his arms for good measure.

"And why ever not, Draco?" asked the other with a slight smirk.

"It's a waste of time." Draco lifted his chin with a haughty air of importance.

"How can you be so sure?" The dark-skinned teen shifted his seating position, pulling one knee to his chest and laying his arm over it casually.

Draco himself moved farther back in the large green armchair, so that his back was completely straight. "Because, Blaise," he said, "Divination itself is worthless, and the Muggle version must be worse."

"You don't know that yet," protested Blaise calmly. Deep in the back of his mind, he knew the other male would give in sooner or later if this was kept up.

Malfoy Manor was, on this cool summer day in July, empty. Lucius and Narcissa were currently in France for what Narcissa called a second honeymoon and what Lucius referred to as his 'get out of jail free card'. The Monopoly reference, naturally, was lost on Draco who was content to know next to nothing of the world of Muggles. Blaise and Draco sat now in Draco's room, where Blaise had seated himself on the large four poster bed, and Draco had contented himself with his favorite armchair.

"Divination is only worthless when done by the wrong person," Blaise added as an afterthought.

Draco snorted. "Everyone who does it is equally batty."

Rolling his eyes, Blaise said, "Will it kill you to go? What else have you to do around here?"

Draco pursed his lips, contemplating. "If I go, I reserve the right to hex them if they say something I don't like."

"Like I would expect anything different from you, Draco."

Two years ago, Draco Malfoy would never _ever_ have let himself be dragged anywhere unless it had been his idea to start with. Last year, he would never _ever_ have let himself be dragged to a Muggle fortune teller. Hell, _three_ years ago he had still been Voldemort's lackey, trying to kill Dumbledore. Funny how things changed over time.

"If she so much as _mentions _my hair or fashion sense, I'm giving her a horse's arse for a face!"

It was also funny how some things seemed to stay exactly the same.

"I'm sure," said Blaise through gritted teeth, "that she has better things to mention than your fashion sense. Even though it does beg the question of your true sexuality."

Draco merely glared, apparently unable to come up with a comeback at the moment. Blaise sighed happily, murmuring, "Oh, blessed silence."

Blaise Zabini had brought him to a rural area just outside of London, where, evidently, there was a traveling fair. Multi-colored tents surrounded them, along with—in Draco's opinion—a bunch of sweaty sodding Muggles.

"Here," said Blaise, pulling at the flap of a red and gold tent.

Draco sputtered indignantly for a minute. "Those are _Gryffindor_ colors, Zabini! Couldn't you have picked a tent with some taste?"

"Why?" snapped the other, agitated with the spoiled Malfoy. "They're all Muggles, remember?" He nudged the nineteen-year-old boy inside. "Promise me you won't kill her? I don't want to have to cover for you with the Ministry."

Draco opened his mouth to reply to this particular remark, but the other boy had already disappeared. He scowled and turned to the inside of the tent. There was a small rectangular table with a red cloth draped over it, a glass orb on the table, a small rather uncomfortable-looking chair, and a woman. The woman was clothed, contrary to the rest of the décor, in a deep cerulean blue dress, a scarf covering most of her face from view. Only her eyes could be seen, and they were such a shade of blue themselves that they nearly matched the scarf.

"Please," she said, her voice making it sound like she was smiling at him behind the covering, "sit."

Draco stared her down for a brief moment, then did as she said and sat. The chair was actually very soft—looks could be deceiving, he assumed begrudgingly.

"You're aware that you clash, correct?" he said.

"I clash?" The woman, who sounded more like a teenager like himself rather than an actual woman, lifted her eyebrows.

"Yes." Draco nodded stiffly. "The tent and everything inside is either red or gold, and yet you wear blue."

"Blue is my favorite color." Now he could definitely tell she was smiling. "Red and gold, however, were sort of my school colors."

"They're absolutely hideous."

The woman giggled a little. "I suppose one such as yourself would think that."

_One such as myself? _he thought. "What is that supposed to mean?"

But she only shook her head gently and asked, "What is your name?"

"You're the psychic," said Draco, "why don't you tell me?"

"I'm not a psychic," she replied. Her eyes locked with his, exuding a confidence he was not used to seeing in females. "I'm a fortune teller."

He didn't ask what that meant. He merely straightened his back importantly and stated his name. "Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy," she said thoughtfully. "A French name, I see."

"Does that mean something?"

"No. Not really." The cloth on her face moved again as she smiled wider. "My name is Demetria Amherst."

"Did I ask your name?" Draco retorted, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in a feeling that made him think he should know the name from somewhere. In the back of his mind, all that he recognized was that her name implied that she too was French.

"No, you didn't." The fortune-teller still didn't sound disconcerted; she only seemed amused.

Draco seethed. Honestly, why Blaise thought this wouldn't be a complete waste of time was beyond him. There was silence in the tent for a long while. "Aren't you going to ask me for my palm or something?" he demanded crossly.

"That depends." She appeared to find him very entertaining; she leaned forward, all her attention focused on him.

He waited, and once he figured out that she was not going to elaborate, he found himself asking, "Depends on what?"

This time, he could see the smile in her eyes. They really were quite expressive. "That depends on your willingness to give me your palm, Draco."

Her voice caressed his name, and for a moment he was caught off guard. _Bloody Muggle. Where the hell is Blaise? I demand to leave this instant._

Yet he did not move from his seat and instead hesitantly reached out to the fortune teller named Demetria, palm up. She took it gently, very aware that he could pull away at any moment. Her hand, he noticed, was oddly soft.

"You feel kind of warm," she said thoughtfully. She looked up from his palm at him, holding his gaze.

He resisted the urge to fidget. He was a Malfoy—Malfoys did not fidget.

She glanced away from him for barely a moment, into the crystal ball in front of her, before locking eyes with him for the third time. Releasing his hand, she sounded very serious as she said, "You're in love."

Draco gaped, and for nearly a full minute, the tent was silent. That is, of course, until he burst out laughing.

"Rubbish! Divination is a load of rubbish!" Draco chortled. "Oh, just wait until Blaise hears this, he'll just _die_—"

"Divination? I was under the impression I was telling your fortune." The scarf had slipped a little, revealing just a small bit of her nose.

"I can't be in love," said Draco, still finding this extremely funny. "Not with all the girls I know. I would be able to tell if I were in _love_."

"Perhaps it's not a girl that you're well acquainted with now." The fortune teller's eyes shone brightly with mischief, and he thought that maybe there was something she had not told him. "When the next girl arrives, look into her eyes. You'll fall in love."

"Seeing as love is a ridiculous emotion and the last thing I want is to fall prey to it," Draco replied with a smirk, "I'll just have to avoid looking in any girl's eyes."

"A childish way to avoid the unavoidable," she said. The scarf had nearly fallen completely, but she pulled it up before it could reveal any more of her face. "It will happen, Draco."

He snorted. "Yes. Of course it will."

He exited the tent still trembling slightly from laughter. Blaise stood not far off, hands in his pockets, obviously waiting for Draco.

"Well?" Blaise asked his friend. "What did she say?"

Draco began laughing again. "Muggles," he said, shaking his head. "I told you they were bloody mad, Blaise. This one said that _I _was going to fall in _love_."

* * *

"Oh," said Draco, a perpetual grin on his face, lounging again in his favorite armchair. "I almost forgot to mention; she was wearing a blue dress! In a red tent! She didn't even seem to care when I pointed it out, either."

"If I didn't know any better," grumbled Blaise, shoving a pillow over his head to block out the other boy's rambling, "I'd think you were gay, Malfoy."

Draco, who had been chatting about his experience nonstop for nearly an hour now, said, "Of course I'm not gay, you ponce!"

"And the only reason I know that, Mr. I-Pay-Attention-To-Color-Scheme, is because the fortune teller said you were going to fall in love with a _girl_."

Draco frowned. "You should have other reasons besides that! Fortune tellers are a load of rubbish, just like I told you," he said pompously.

Blaise grunted noncommittally. "We'll see."

* * *

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, and Draco only brought up his visit with the fortune teller the next morning, in which he Apparated into Blaise's apartment and promptly said, "She was wrong."

Blaise blinked, looking up from his breakfast plate of scrambled eggs. "Who was wrong?"

"The fortune teller," Draco replied smugly. "She was wrong. I have yet to fall in love."

"You know it's only been a day, correct?" Blaise pointed his fork at the other boy. "Less than twenty-four hours."

"That's not the point, Zabini." He smirked. "You're coming with me to the fair. I simply _must _rub this in her face."

"You know." Blaise swallowed the bite in his mouth and brought the dish to the sink, rinsing it off. "You never did tell me this fortune teller's name."

Draco rolled his eyes and replied, "Is that important?" Without waiting for his friend's answer, however, Draco told him. "Demetria Amherst."

"If it wasn't important," said Blaise with a small smile, "if _she_ wasn't important, you wouldn't have remembered her name."

"You were wrong," Draco declared proudly, his hands on the table as he leaned over it towards the fortune teller.

As he had barged into the tent rather quickly, Demetria didn't have the scarf around her face. He was quite unprepared for the prettiness of her newly-uncovered features. Not that it mattered; she was a Muggle, after all.

"Wrong, Draco?" she questioned. She made no move to grab the fabric scarf, though it lay a mere few inches from her. "About what?"

"You told me my fortune, and said I would fall in love. You were wrong."

She looked amused, her pink lips curling into a smile. "You're aware it has only been one day, correct?"

"That's what I told him," chimed in Blaise, irritated, as he stepped into the tent.

"Blaise, I told you to wait outside." Draco glared at him fiercely.

Blaise stopped himself from rolling his eyes and instead looked to the fortune teller. "Hello, Demetria."

"Blaise," she replied with a smile. "Good to see you again. You've been well, I assume?"

Draco looked between the two disbelievingly, his jaw going slack. "You two know each other?"

"Quite well, actually." Blaise grinned at Demetria, who was now a faint pink. "It's really quite incredible the people you become friends with after the Slytherins-and-Gryffindors-must-hate-each-other aspect is gone."

"She's a witch? Bloody hell, wait a minute, she's a _Gryffindor_?!"

"I'm surprised you didn't figure it out," Blaise said, chuckling. "It was really quite obvious."

"But, but," he sputtered. "You!" He rounded on Demetria. "You made a fool out of me!"

"Did she?" Blaise smirked, watching his friend come to a realization as Demetria's cheeks went from pink to a rather deep red.

Draco looked at Demetria, looked at Blaise. He looked at her again, meeting her eyes, and, strangely enough, his breath caught in his throat. Then he turned back to Blaise.

"Bugger off for a bit, Zabini," Draco said. "I do believe I've just fallen in love with the bloody fortune teller."

* * *

A/N: REVIEWS ARE MY CRACK! SUPPORT MY ADDICTION! :DDD


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